Fix You
by Violet Verner
Summary: When you lose something you can't replace, how far do you go to find it? Loki's daughter has not seen him in years. Far too long. How far will they go to reunite? When Ljota Lokidottir cannot find her beloved father Loki, she turns to one of her few friends, Violet Verner Holmes. ((All cred. to Marvel, BBC, ACDoyle, Ljota Lokidottir on this site, and myself))
1. Lyrics

When you try your best, but you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face

And I...

Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face

And I...

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

— Cold Play, "Fix You"


	2. Lose Something You Can't Replace

**A/N: This piece of amazing was written with a friend of mine, Leah N. on Google +. Ljota(Loi-ta)/Lokilein is her character, and Violet is mine.**

VIOLET

I've felt some legitimate fear in my life — I have chased killers through the streets of London; I've seen my best friends suffer and almost die in front of my eyes; I've been on the mat of Death's door time and time again — but the I-almost-wet-myself-fear of my friend sneaking up on me, for some reason, never goes away.

"Hah!" She giggled, pointing at my shocked face.

"Lokilein!" I yelled my nickname for her. I had been in my Mind Palace for some time, thinking over a case — working, for heaven's sake! — and she decided to act like the mischievous five year old she is, and appear from thin air again.

" How many bloody times have I told you not to interrupt me when I'm thinking?" I growled, getting up from the floor upon which I had fallen — in fact, I had been lying on the couch, but she had scared me to the point of me rolling off, barely avoiding the table.

"No need to swear, Holmes," she said, grinning, stealing my spot on the couch, imitating me.

"Get off the couch, that's my spot."

"Sh! I'm in my Mind Palace!" she said, matching her voice perfectly to mine, which was unnerving. I knew that once she was in the mood for trouble, there was no getting her out of it, so I went to get some tea started. It was already 5:00 — I had been thinking for 2.3 hours — I could have been working longer, but since I had company, however rude she was, it was my duty to make tea.

"Blackberry, or lotus this time?" I yelled to her, rummaging through the cupboard.

"Blackberry, please — lots of sugar, preferably, or… what's that, _honey,_ please," she said, in her regular voice now. Of the few things I have inherited from my mother, it was her lighter voice; Lokilein — or, Ljota, as her real name is — got her voice quality from her father, just like the rest of her. (She and I are Daddy's girls, in every sense of the term.) What I mean is — it is evident when she is trying to imitate me, or be herself.

But, I knew her well — honey? She took tea black, always. As I put the honey into the cup, and made a cup for myself, I thought. _Tense voice, trying to hide it, holding something back — meant to be a social visit, but secretly wants to consult with me. Well…_

I walked out with the cups of tea, and laid them on the table in front of her. She did not reach out. _Good Gallifrey, she's not well. If she's showing not well, something is very wrong…_

I then sat down on the table, cross-legged, placing her honey-infused tea on her stomach — she caught it just in time, staring at me with her bright blue-green eyes — with so much fake malice, it was pathetic. Her straight black hair was flopped over the arm of the velvet sofa — tousling it even more — her black and green shirt was re-used (_traveling_), her leather boots muddy. (_Busy, tired._)

She was bothered. And showing it. She never showed anything except rage or devilish glee, just like I only showed interest and happiness. So — the time was ripe to be blunt.

"You're bothered — Oh, don't even bother to deny it, Ljota — you just wanted to talk and tease, like young women do," She looked away from me, scoffing — I'm 21 on Earth — but Ljota? She is 90 on Earth, but she was aged as a 18 year old; she _looked_ younger than I — in her father's eyes, she was about 2, by my calculations — so she scoffed when I said "young" .

"You know what I mean, Ljota. What I am trying to say, is that you meant to be social, but you secretly wish to consult. There is something you wanted to get off your chest, but being… you… you wish to not say anything, laugh it off, as always, much like myself," I said, taking a sip of my tea. She almost spit hers out, I believe.

"Holy, Odin, you read my mind…. Have you any idea how much I hate that, Vi? And they say I am the one with magic," she muttered, sipping her too -sweet tea. " This is disgusting."

"You said honey!"

"I forgot how sweet blackberry tea is…" she sighed, staring at the blank ceiling. I had never seen her so depressed.

"Ljota, what's wrong? I am an unemotional machine, but you may tell me — I will help you." She fidgeted, quite uncomfortable.

"I… remember how I said I would visit my father after our last case together?" she said, slowly. I did — she often said that. For the past few months, she had come with me on my more fun cases — my other friend, Lilly Watson, was still in med-school. Last case, she said she would not be able to assist me for some time, because she was going to look for her father, whom she had not seen in months.

"Well — the Bifrost… It is not working for me," she sighed, her hand tensing. That was news to me. Well… not really, it made sense, after what had happened a while ago in the US.

"Lokilein, remember… incident with the Convergence in 2013, 23 years ago — Loki will still not be trusted —"

"That should not mean that I am banned from my father, from my home!" she said, jumping out off the couch, and pacing. The rage was setting in, for her. I knew how to calm her down, and, to be honest, I have my bad days — but, her eyes were flames. I stood up, just in case she decided to break one of the potted plants again. Yes, again.

"I know. But, Ljota, I am merely just stating the facts. Just calm down, please, so that nothing happens to my flat again," I said, while she growled and sat down. She took one of the pens that was lying on the table, and magicked it into a dagger.

"Put it down, Ljota —"

"No."

"Fine. So what do you want me to do?" I asked, folding my hands together so they didn't do anything stupid.

"Who said I needed your help?" she muttered, smoothing her shoulder-length hair down with her hand that wasn't twirling the golden dagger around.

"Oh, shut up, don't be stupid. Just tell me what is wrong, and we can get on with our lives," I said, very impatient, leaning forward to show that I was sincere. After a while, she opened up — tough nut to crack, all of my friends.

"Fine. I've told you the problem. I just have no way to get to Asgard without the Bifrost, for father has taught me none of the secret routes. I know you have that thing that works much like the Bifrost —"

"— Vortex Manipulator. You wish me to use it to get us into Asgard, somehow? But… wouldn't your father be imprisoned?"

"YES!" she spat, because, who wouldn't have it at a touchy subject. "Yes, he is currently imprisoned, as always, because Odin is always imprisoning him!" As she said this, she threw the dagger with dangerous accuracy at the wall with the best wall paper.

"RASSILON, Ljota, control your emotions!" I said, as I pulled the dagger out of the wall — a bit hard, even for a strong person like myself.

"Okay," I said, changing the dagger back into a pen with my Sonic Screwdriver,

"So we find a way to get into Asgard, find your father, perhaps bust him out of jail, happily ever after, yes?" She contemplated it, as I mentally stepped on my own foot for letting myself say I would bust a criminal out of jail. She nodded.

" Fine. But… how do you propose secretly getting into Asgard, of all places? It's not a simple bank on Midgard, Holmes!"

I didn't want to know how she knew how easy banks were to break into, but I continued. " I have a theory. Let's go downstairs, ask my Dad," I said, heading to my room to change into decent clothes — black dress-shirt and black jeans, just in case we had to sneak around.

"What would Sherlock Holmes know about Asgard?" she asked after I came back.

"He's a Timelord too, you know," I said, putting on my black leather boots.

It is now time to explain my personal story, I realize, or else the rest of the narrative will not make any sense.

If you are reading this narrative, you are either, a) not from Earth, or, if you are, b) reading it past the year 2045 — I'm not releasing it to humans until that date — only after that date are "aliens" treated humanely by the human race. Therefore, if you are reading this story, if you can call it that, then there is a great chance you know of the Doctor — the last Timelord in existence, saver of Worlds, Oncoming Storm, man of legend — my Grandfather.

Back on Gallifrey, his planet, he had several children. My father, known in his youth as "the Detective", now known as Sherlock Holmes, as well as his elder brother, Mycroft (then known as "the Agent", I believe), followed in the footsteps of their father — they got bored of never being able to _do_ anything, stole a TARDIS, and headed to Earth.

The year was 1879.

My father did become the Detective, my uncle, an Agent of the British Government, and they were still pretty young — only a couple of centuries, I believe.

Then, my father ran out of money. He signed up for a flatshare, and, funny enough, met another Timelord who got bored of life on Gallifrey, who had escaped _with_ him, the Soldier. The Soldier had just served as an army doctor in a war on Earth, so he was out of money, "with no kith nor kin in London". Dad decided to let the Soldier document their adventures together, and they had many cases; many adventures.

So the World was introduced to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson for the first time.

But — the Time War came… Long story short, both where called to fight, both escaped in the last seconds, before… it ended. They didn't know that either lived, however — and they had both regenerated, besides.

Dad and Uncle Mycroft (who had also regenerated) found themselves on Earth again, back in England — where some very friendly humans that most know as my grandparents raised them, that's how young-looking Dad and Uncle's regenerated bodies were. No one remembered the names "Sherlock" nor "Mycroft" Holmes, nor "John Watson" because Uncle found a way… well, he took care of that.

When my father found himself broke again, he signed up for a flatshare once more — and once more met Dr. John Watson. The rest is known to the modern world.

A while later, to the surprise of everyone, Sherlock Holmes fell in love and married Molly Hooper — a year later, I was born. Being half Timelord, I have two hearts, a large brain, the ability to regenerate, and that odd power to sync with/"read" someone's mind. I was later given a Vortex Manipulator (which looks like a fob watch, to which I will refer in the story), and a sonic screwdriver, so at the age of 18, I took up the family business, and became a Consulting Detective — for the Universe at large, though. Scotland Yard is for Dad.

As I regarded upon before, Lilly Watson is busy with school (I skipped first grade, which is why I graduated college at 21 instead of 22). People insist, for some reason, that I must travel with someone, so when I met Ljota Lokidottir, and saw how capable she is, I asked her if she wanted to have a little fun, and we've been solving crimes for five months now.

There are no normal friendships in my family, the same is with hers. I suppose, I must clarify — she is the daughter of Loki, known to humans as "the god of mischief" in Norse is he whom we were about to look for — and, you can imagine why our task was difficult.

We made our way up to 221B Baker St. I had keys to the flat, so I just let myself in, Ljota right behind.

Dad was doing an experiment on an ever-cluttered table. I noticed he had grey dye in again. Timelords do not age in most of their Regenerations, so once Dad's child-like state of his Regeneration was grown out of, he was bound to look like he was in his 30s until he Regenerated again — if he chose to. He put grey dye in his dark curls to look human — and, to make Mum feel a bit better about the whole thing.

"Ah, Violet. Long time no see," he said, putting the eyeball he was torching down, and sliding off his fire-retardant gloves. "And…" he struggled for the name he had deleted.

"Ljota," she replied, not for the first or last time.

"Oh, yes…" he said, absently. Mum walked in then, happy to see us.

"Violet, Ljota!" she said, giving each of us a quick hug. Ljota was a little taken aback, but she hugged back anyway.

"Haven't seen you in a month… too busy saving the Universe to visit your Mum and Dad?" she teased, lightly, as always. God, I love my mother.

"Something like that, sorry," I said, as Mum directed us to the couch. She and Dad knew straight off that we weren't just there for the sake of social visits. Ljota was fidgety, impatient. Dad sat in the "Consulting Chair" as I called it, the business-like black one, not dissimilar to the one I had downstairs. I pulled up two chairs for Ljota and I to sit in, Mum in the red armchair. I would have sat in the couch, but it was a bit far away to speak comfortably.

"So — Ljota, you're looking for your father, are you?" Dad asked, hands steepled under his chin. Ljota was perturbed again — usually, she was the one with all the tricks up her sleeve, but when she was around my family and I, we were on equal ground — something she was taught to never be.

"Lokilein…" I muttered.

"Yes. Mr. Holmes, may I ask —"

"Sherlock, please. Boots, hair, shirt — you're usually quite organized, but, not today. So you've been traveling. But you look tired, distressed, so you're searching for someone. Now, I remember you, just not your name — you are the daughter of Loki. My guess is, you don't have much other family that you hold so dear — father Loki it is, then," he rattled off.

It was obvious, for us, but the way he said it… Mum stared daggers into him, as did I. Ljota was visibly upset again.

"Oh… that was blunt… right… sorry." Dad said, his light blue eyes embarrassed.

"Go on, Ljota," Mum said, gently.

"First, how do you know of my father?" Ljota asked, hiding her anger.

"Well… to be honest, back when. Back when I was on Gallifrey, I liked looking after Earth and the surrounding planets. Asgard was like Gallifrey in a few ways, so, my eye was on it a few times. Loki was on our people's radar anyway, so I remember him well enough." he said, nonchalantly. Ljota, again, disliked this, but continued.

"So, you know of the Bifrost."

"Of course. It is really the Vortex in a contained form, I'm sure you know," he said, looking at me. I had suspected, of course. Ljota looked at me.

"You knew?"

"Uh… I had my suppositions," I said, smiling guiltily. She was going to cause my second regeneration, and I knew it.

"We'll talk about that later, Holmes — er, Violet, sorry," she said, looking at Mum and Dad.

"So, your problem is getting into Asgard without the Bifrost?"

"Yes. But, as my friend here pointed out," Ljota continued, "If we use her device —"

"— Vortex Manipulator"

"— To get into Asgard, we don't know where to land. We cannot go into the heart of the city, not with me, a daughter of the most hated Asgardian in history!"

"There has to be another way?" Mum asked, interested now.

"I do not know of any — my father taught me none."

Dad thought for a second, his face set like stone, the gears of his mind working at top speed.

"Well… there is a way, but it involves getting wet," Dad finally said.

"How?" Ljota almost screamed from excitement.

"Well, Violet has a VM, the Bifrost is the Vortex. If you use a small bit of 'magic' to tell the Bifrost to shoot you a little further than the gate, the guard —"

"Heimdall" Ljota spat, disliking the person the name belonged to, I deduced.

"— May miss you. He is all-seeing, I know, but if you do it quick enough, it should work in a way that even he will not notice."

"Are you sure?" Ljota asked.

"80%, yes."

"Oh, that is comforting." she muttered. I didn't like the stats either, but I said,

"Lokilein, do you want to find your father, or no? This is our best shot."

She thought, and there was a long silence.

"Well?" I pressed. She smiled.

"We're breaking into one of the most secure planets in Creation, right under Odin's crooked nose? Of course I shall!"


	3. What You Want,But Not What You Need

LJOTA

Well, it was a — what do you call it here — a _no-brainer_, really, wasn't it? Dangerous, to be sure, but when had I ever done anything safe? I stood up, and Violet followed my lead.

"Daddylock," she said, using her childhood nickname for her father. He looked at her.

"No, Violet, I'm not coming. The Universe is your territory. London is mine."

Violet frowned — it was unlike her father to refuse to risk his life — but turned to me. "Ready, Lokilein?" She was fiddling with her Vortex Manipulator.

I took a deep breath. "Yes. So I just have to — sort of amplify or manipulate the power of your device —" I knew full well what it was called, and only did that to annoy the Holmeses "— to get us past the gate?"

She nodded, though I thought I detected a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth — I shrugged it off as excitement for another adventure. She held out her hand — "hold on tight, Asgardian," she joked — and I took it. Violet raised her eyebrows. "Your hand's shaking," she announced. I blinked and looked at my free hand. I supposed it was shaking. I hadn't noticed.

Molly came over and hugged us each again — I had never met anyone who hugged so much in all my life! Then again, I _was_ raised on Asgard — and Sherlock gave us a terse nod, which was about as much affection as one could usually hope for from him. Violet smiled.

"See you in a few, Dad, Mum," she said, then pressed something on her Vortex Manipulator and we were sucked away.

Violet wanted me to tell you who I am and how I ended up on Midgard, cut off from my home and family and living among humans, so I will. My father, as she's mentioned, is Loki Laufeyson, the God of Mischief. You probably know part of his story — the bit where he found out his true birth and went on a world-domination rampage, most likely, and possibly a few other pieces from back when people actually believed in Asgard, like that embarrassing time when he gave birth to an eight-legged horse. But we don't talk about that.

After the trouble in New York, as you probably know, my father was imprisoned — again — then Thor broke him out and they went on more adventures, during which my father was apparently killed. But, of course, he wasn't really dead. Dying just wouldn't be my father, if you understand me. I think dying implies some kind of general satisfaction with how one has lived one's life, and it has been said that satisfaction is simply not in Loki's nature.

Following his faked death (Violet's father faked his death at least once, too, incidentally — another thing we have in common), my father returned to Asgard and sat on the throne, impersonating Odin. Naturally, it didn't take Odin long to figure out what was happening, so my father was imprisoned _yet again._ But then he was released — again — and, following in my uncle Thor's footsteps, he dabbled in mortal affairs and ended up in a romantic involvement with a young woman of Midgard. I don't know that part of the story too well (nobody does), but I think he was feeling a bit guilty by that point and wanted to make it up to the people of Earth whose lives he had nearly destroyed. Anyway, the relationship ended when the human woman died bearing Loki's child — I suppose they should have known that a half-Frost-Giant baby would be too much for a mortal's body to bear.

As the halfway intelligent among you have most likely guessed — pardon me, _deduced_ — that baby was me. I was the half-breed anomaly, daughter of the labelled traitor Loki and a Midgardian woman, raised in Asgard. I suppose I'm grateful that my father never kept the truth from me. It would have been so much worse to find out the way he did — by accident, having lived my life in second place and never known why. But the other children were merciless in their prosecution of me. I spent most of my free time with my father, or — especially during the periods when he was in prison — reading and studying. Unlike him, I was never under the illusion that I could ever ascend the throne of Asgard, so I had to be educated. And with no friends with whom to associate, I had little to do except study and pull pranks with my father.

For the sake of propriety, and so that I wasn't entirely alone when he was in prison, my father took a wife among the Aesir — Sigyn. She bore him two sons, Vali and Nari. Although my stepmother and half-brothers are technically defined as my family, I have never regarded them as such. Sigyn looks on me as a burden, and her sons resent their parentage and scorn me. Vali and Nari were, in fact, some of my most cruel tormentors in my younger years, despite being younger than me. I never fought back against them. Not because I was afraid, or thought I couldn't take them — my father taught me enough that I knew I was at least a match for those sniveling cowards — but because I knew it would do no good. He had also taught me the value of choosing one's battles, and the small-minded Aesir bullies simply weren't worth my time and energy.

I love my father — as I'm sure you've gathered by now — but he's always been a bit overprotective. When I got to be about ninety in Earth years (Asgardian years are different and there are relativity issues and I won't try to explain the conversion), I was starting to feel trapped, smothered. It took a while, but I convinced my father to let me take a solo trip to Midgard. I knew enough about the culture from school, and I really wanted to escape the constant eye of my father. I didn't realize how much I would come to miss that.

On Midgard, I became acquainted — quite by accident — with Violet. I had no idea who she was, of course, but when she started talking about me as if she knew my entire life story, despite the fact that we'd known each other for less than five minutes, I knew she wasn't at all ordinary either. I suppose non-ordinary people have a tendency to gravitate toward one another.

We talked, and once she had deduced and pried enough that I admitted who I was, she told me her own story. Daughter of Sherlock Holmes, granddaughter of the Doctor — it was an impressive genealogy. And thus, we became friends. When she asked me to accompany her on her adventures — cases, sorry — I gladly accepted. The rest of the story, you already know, so I'll return to the narrative.

The next thing we knew, we were under a great deal of pressure and unable to breathe. This had me panicky for a few moments, until I realized we were underwater. Breaking the surface a few seconds later, I saw Violet already topside and grinning at me. I glared, mock angry.

"I hate your dad. And you."

"No you don't," she smirked, and struck out for the shoreline.

Once we had reached the shore and were sitting by the edge of the water, dripping — it was a blessing that both of us were good swimmers — I looked around and smiled, despite the precariousness of our situation.

"Asgard! Oh, it's good to be back. Come on, let's go to the palace."

Violet didn't look convinced, though. "So," she began, "you can just — I mean, no offense, but isn't Odin constantly angry at your dad? Is he really going to just let us in?"

"Well, er . . . I might have to use the back door." The 'back door' was not strictly legal, but who cared? "I'll make sure we don't run into trouble. You know," I waggled my hands ineffectually, "illusions."

She nodded, still skeptical, and drew her Sonic. "Uh-huh. Suggestion: you disguise us as Asgardian guards, and we can go straight to your father. You said he's in prison?"

"He was when I left, but that was months ago. He might have gotten out. Or been released, if Odin was too distracted to care about keeping him locked up. You never know with them." I sighed. "Anyway — that sounds like a good plan, except that as I've told you before, it's a lot harder for me to project illusions onto other people. And Asgardian armor is pretty ornate. I think —" I glanced at Violet, knowing she wasn't going to like what I said next "— I think I should go in alone and scope the place out."

She frowned worriedly, proving me right. "You can't go in there alone — what, are you mad? You're the daughter of Loki, they'll know. I think maybe this time the wisest thing to do is just hide out in the shadows, sneak around a bit."

"But I can —"

"No, you can't. Forget it."

Well, Violet was a Holmes, and I knew there was no changing her mind. I was defeated. "Okay, okay. But if there's trouble, let me do the talking, all right?"

I thanked the _nornir_ (distant aunts of mine, incidentally) that she agreed to that.

"Of course. — your home planet, after all. But do not forget the power of Holmsian charm," she joked, flipping her curls to alleviate the tension.

I smirked. "Of course not. Shall we proceed?"

"Allons-y!" she grinned, using a favorite phrase of her grandfather's. We set out, keeping to backstreets and alleys and avoiding eye contact with the natives. _Funny,_ I thought wryly, _this is a lot like how I spent most of my childhood._ Not that I would tell Violet that. She was my friend, but I didn't want her pity.

It wasn't hard to figure out how to get to the palace, since it was vast and dramatic and very familiar to me. We came upon a dark corridor that looked unused and uncared for, and I let Violet inside. "Almost wish I had brought a torch," she muttered, peering through the gloom.

"When you say 'torch,'" I teased, "are you referring to an _actual_ torch, or one of those electrical devices you use in Midgard?"

"Either would do, right now," she replied, "for once. Ah, well — where to, Lokilein?"

"Let's go up here first." We had come to a narrow old stairway that I remembered from my childhood. "If I can eavesdrop in the hall, we might be able to figure out where my father is." Violet laughed and I looked at her curiously. "What's so funny?"

"This is just so — so _criminal_," she pointed out.

"Enlightening. I hadn't noticed."

"Just — a Holmes, sneaking around illegally in order to find and _aid_ a notorious criminal? It's just funny."

I grinned. "I know. My father's name is . . . not the most honourable, I grant you." At the top of the stairs now, and looking out onto the hall, she turned to me.

"Lokilein, if you can't conjure up some magic now, tell me. I have an idea."

"I could probably patch something together," I shrugged, "but I'm curious about this idea of yours. Do tell."

Digging in her inexplicably enormous coat pockets, she pulled out a pair of devices. _These Midgardians — or Time Lords, whatever — and their gadgets._ "This is a disguise that works on all but the voice — it's called a Shimmer. The only risk is that some species can tell right away, but I'm guessing that the Aesir aren't one of them — no offense, of course."

"None taken," I said mildly. "Technically, I'm not even Aesir myself." _And they haven't tended to inspire a great deal of loyalty_, I added to myself.

"Right, of course. Well, clip the Shimmer onto your belt like this —" she attached hers with a smooth, practiced gesture. "Now, I suggest that you do the talking, magic your voice two octaves deeper, ask the guards for Loki's whereabouts — subtly, of course — and I'll stay behind and quiet."

"Oh, good! A full disguise was going to be hard to keep up, especially for an extended period. Shimmers on!" I clipped the second Shimmer onto my own belt and we switched them on. Violet now looked like a tall, uniformed — though still curly-haired — palace guard, and I supposed I looked similar. "How do I look?"

"Ah," she nodded. "Still feminine voices, as I predicted. Lokilein, try magicking your voice to a masculine one — preferably something intimidating."

"All right." I paused, concentrating, then tested the results. "How's this?" My voice came out deep and gravelly. "Nope, too dramatic." Another pause, and I spoke again. "Now? I think it works."

"Oh, yes. Perfect, Lokilein!"

"Excellent." We exchanged mischievous grins and I walked out into the hall, approaching a guard I didn't recognize .

The guard looked up as I approached. "I've not seen you here before. New recruit?" The guards were all very familiar with one another, so I should have predicted that a strange face would attract a bit of attention.

"Yes," I lied easily. "We've been sent to find Prince Loki. King Odin wants to talk to him."

To my surprise, the guard laughed so hard he spat his ale all over me. I tried to hide my distaste, but it was admittedly not an easy task.

"Loki, you say?" he managed at last, still chortling. "Just how drunk are you?"

At the sound of Violet's voice behind me, I tensed, but she had lowered her voice enough that it was not entirely unconvincing. "Sir," she put in, "we have drunk no ale in some time. I tell you that we two must see Prince Loki — royal orders!" Leaning in, she continued in a threatening whisper, "Your wife and two sons look up to you as the bread-winner, so I suggest you let us pass and keep your job."

She really could be quite impressive when she chose.

The guard, however, merely snorted again. "Really," he insisted, "how much have you had? Surely you know that Prince Loki has not been seen for weeks — ever since they gave up looking for his daughter."

I reeled inwardly at this news, but outwardly displayed no sign of shock. "Ha," I laughed, "you actually thought we were serious! Just a joke, friend," I assured the bewildered guard, and drew Violet away hastily with a parting "Good day." The guard watched us suspiciously for a few moments, but then turned his attention back to the ale in his tankard.

Back in the dimness of the old corridor, Violet spun to face me. "My Lord, Ljota! They've been looking for you, and now Loki's busted out of jail to find you! He could be worlds away!" She was waving her arms frantically, as she always did when she was very worried.

"We don't know he was still in jail," I pointed out. "I think the chances are about fifty-fifty." Nonetheless, I was pacing anxiously. "How am I going to find him? I never expected this."

"Oh, erm . . . there are several ways, all of them complicated, but I may have something, Lokilein!" She sounded simultaneously excited and terrified.

"What? Tell me!" My forced calm was deteriorating quickly, and I was starting to get angry.

"There are a few things," she said again, "all quite complicated . . ." She had her eyes closed and her fingers pressed to her temples, deep in Holmsian thought processes. I waited. "Okay," she said finally, "well — he would leave some sort of trace, he's powerful; easy to track. So, somehow . . . if we had something of his, perhaps . . . perhaps my Sonic could track him, DNA, see? If not, then I could try . . ." She shook her head. "Well, let's try that thing first, it makes more sense." She was almost as tense as I was.

"Er . . ." I fished in my pockets, but neither my father or I was particularly fond of souvenirs and "remember-me-by-this"es. "I don't have anything of his on me. We'll have to go to his chambers and see if we can find something there. Come on!" I turned down another corridor and hurried down it — almost running, though I slowed down because Violet was walking backwards to make sure we hadn't been followed. Running backwards through the network of dusty old passages under the Palace of Asgard is not a recommended activity, Time Lord or not.

Violet spoke up. "So . . . what if we get caught?" Those Midgardians with their damnable practicality again. I'd been trying to avoid thinking about that eventuality. "I mean, I can get us out, but maybe Odin could lead us to Loki, if absolutely necessary?"

I balked at the suggestion, but was forced to concede the point. "Maybe," I admitted reluctantly. "But only as a very last resort. I would really rather not risk Odin's wrath. Especially when he finds out it's me." I paused, rounding a corner. "If it comes to that, though, Thor might help us. He doesn't hate me _too_ much and I think he'll probably feel bad about the whole ordeal."

"Ah, older brothers," Violet agreed. "Isn't that just the way? Okay, we seem to be coming up to where he would be, yes? Something in the air . . . just grab whatever you can — well, the more of his magic trace, the better — I'll cover you, then get out!" Clearly, burglary made her very nervous.

"Yes," I confirmed, "just up here." Slipping through a disused service door, I emerged into my father's sparse but elegant front room. "Let me look through these drawers."

Violet stood in the doorway while I rummaged. "Something that looks like it's been used," she reminded me in a whisper, "or of some magical substance."

I nodded. "Right. Nothing much here — my father doesn't keep a lot of trinkets. I'll try the closet." The closet in question had always been off-limits to me, so I figured it might contain something of personal importance. I picked the lock, taking a moment to appreciate the irony — that I was breaking into my father's things with his own lock picks — and opened the door. It clearly hadn't been touched in some time, and was dusty and cluttered, much unlike his main chambers. I tried not to sneeze, and started digging around in the rubble.

My hand closed around something cold and hard, like metal. I frowned and drew it out with a sharp intake of breath when I realized what it was. "This is . . . old," I murmured. "I wasn't even supposed to know he had it . . ." Just then, the sound of footsteps and creaky doors came from the other end of the room. I tossed the Chitauri Scepter to Violet and turned guiltily just as someone came into the room. I froze.

Violet, on the other hand, managed to keep her wits about her. Thank the _nornir _I had her with me.

"Ah," she said, pocketing the Scepter (sometimes I do love Time Lord technology) and stepping up behind me. "The Great and Mighty Thor. Hello."


	4. Ignite Your Bones

VIOLET

There was that wet-yourself fear again. Not that I was intimidated by Thor — I had encountered many worse foes, but I was intimidated by the Shadow Proclamation, the Space Police, if you will. They are my Scotland Yard — I consult for them — and if they somehow found out I was aiding and abetting a criminal's daughter, even for the sake of some sort of justice, my career was over.

As I faced the "God of Thunder", I sized him up, making especially sure of the hammer he was clutching tightly, _Mjolnir_. _Warrior, as in the old stories. Tired, angry, distressed — Looking for Loki. Best strategy — pity. _

"Hello," I said, using my feminine voice, the Shimmer already being off. Ljota had her Shimmer still activated, too stunned by the sight of her Uncle to do anything. Wouldn't blame her — Thor was the last person we needed to see right now, bar Odin, in her eyes.

"And who are you?" he growled, his voice like… well, like thunder. He was speaking more to her than to me — we had actually met before, on one of my cases, and while it was evident that he was racking his brain for an answer as to why I was now breaking the law, he was more concerned about the Aesir rummaging through his brother's royal cabinets, looking guilty.

For once in her life, Ljota Lokidottir struggled for a good lie. I gave her a nod — it would be better if she told the truth on this one. She smiled apologetically, another first (_Good Rassilon, this is taking a toll on her_), and disengaged the Shimmer. Thor nearly

dropped _Mjolnir_ in his surprise; his blue eyes couldn't get wider. " Uncle Thor… it is I." she said, still managing to show a warrioress' pride. She actually stood up straighter in her defeat. This is why I call her _Lokilein _— she is so like her father, as I am mine, that it is slightly pathetic.

"Ljota — daughter of Loki?" he said, bewildered.

"Yes," she replied, quietly.

"You are that Midgardian that meddles with other's business through the realms like your Grandfather and father before you, the Lords of Time! Why are you assisting her?" he said, suspicious again. Thor just _leaked_ subliminal messages through his body language: right now he was starting to think I was trying to trick his niece, or perhaps turn her in.

"I am a friend of hers — that I swear on my lives, so you may put your mind at ease, Lord Thor." At that title, Ljota rolled her eyes visibly, but I figured that if I was going to get on this man's good side, I might as well milk _something_. I continued: " I was trying to help Ljota find her father, but…" I shrugged.

Thor sighed. "I have been looking for him, believe me. All of Asgard has, but to no avail — he is good at hiding," he said, a little angry.

Ljota's face fell, but lifted again, when she said, "Violet has a… a device that we can use to track him, we just need one of his possessions. That was we came here, see. Could…" She literally had to force the next words out, as if they broke all her pride simultaneously — "Could you help us, _Onkel_?" Thor paused, sizing her up and down now, the carbon copy of his brother.

"I… I do not know if I can trust you."

"Well, I can return the sentiment, Thor, but I ask anyway!" she spat, getting angrier by the word.

"Daughter of Loki, what do you expect? Open arms?" he replied with a sarcastic giggle.

"YES!" she screamed, her eyes full of sorrow. Before Thor could reply, I interjected.

"Okay, calm down, both of you! Thor," I said, staring at him, and though he was at least a foot taller than I, I stood my ground, "Ljota is just looking for her father, whom she has not seen in years. She's still young in Asgardian eyes, yes? Just help us, please, and we'll be on our way." That would have worked on most people his type, and I could see he was contemplating it seriously, but he still frowned.

"I should tell my father about this."

"NO!" Ljota ran to his side and grabbed his arm, " No, he'd just throw us out, or worse, lock me up!" Oh, she was milking it, for sure, but Thor didn't seem to notice. I didn't say anything — she was right, so I let it happen. "You said you were trying to find my father? Well, we can help! Please, honestly, we will, and we can!"

Thor took a deep breath, and sighed, about to say no, but then — my Lord — Ljota _actually used puppy eyes. _That was a tactic often used by _my _father, but when Ljota manipulated people, she was usually a bit more subtle… but, of course, it worked. Not that I was proud, or anything…

" Fine. But why the Mid —... Human, I mean?" Thor said, still angry he was being used. Excuse me?

"Hello? The 'Midgardian' is right here! And I'm not just a human, I am a Lord of Time! If there is anyone who can help find your brother, Lord Thor, it's me — I have many ways to track him down." Thor was incredulous, as he should have been — I would have been too — but he said,

"Alright, then. We must go to the Bifrost. I can get you two past without question, but you must do as I say."

I nodded, and so did Ljota, but added, "I am listening, but I reserve the right to disagree. And — be nice to the Midgardian, or you'll have to answer to me."

Thor raised an eyebrow, but Ljota was dead serious. He gave in. "Right. I understand. She is all you have, besides your father, is she not?" At this, Ljota looked ready to kill him again, and, in honesty, I was too — that was just not the topic to touch upon. Do you like open-heart surgery without anesthesia? Because that's how Ljota's life is, when it comes to relationships, and I'm not much better, when it comes to peers. Thor (I see why Lokilein hates him, I really do — he is much like my Uncle Mycroft, just… not a genius…) continued to talk, oblivious of our death-stares. "I will help you. Come on," he said, leading us through the dark hallway from whence we came. He walked very quickly, which is saying something, because both Ljota and I are used to lives of speed, and an awful lot of running.

But, after a few quick paces, running, really, Ljota and I finally caught up to Thor.

"You may be able to get us into the Bifrost," Ljota said, clipping the Shimmer back into place and magicking her voice back to the deeper one, " But I still wish to get out of here without being killed, thank you."Thor gave her a look that wasn't all to friendly,but said nothing. Ljota, however, raised a good point, so I activated my Shimmer as well, and I appeared an Asgardian soldier once again.

We walked along at top speed, and the long passage, and it widened; light streamed into it, and it had an air of legality, unlike the rest of the quest. Thor suddenly put his arm out to stop us, to the utter chagrin of Ljota, whose now masculine face still managed to make an expression belonging to a teenage girl. "There are guards up ahead of this passage, so be quiet — especially you, Violet,"he said, pointing to my throat , because of my still-feminine voice.

"Yes, Thor, we know that!" Ljota hissed, as she walked forward.

"Yes, Loki, but —"

"I am not your brother! I am —"

"SHHT!" I hissed louder, as we got closer to the three guards who were still drinking ale. I did not need to be in the middle of a family feud, I heard enough of that when Uncle Mycroft was over, thank-you-very-much.

Thor's plan, it seemed, was to just walk innocently past the real guards — he was the son of Odin after all, he could go where he pleased — but the Fates had another idea.

"You two, again?" One of the less-drunk guards asked. (Apparently, there was some celebration going on on Asgard, so even the soldiers on duty could drink. I asked Lokilein about it later, but since she said she didn't really care, I am still in the dark.)

"What are you doing here? How dare you abandon your posts!" Thor then stepped forward and gave the man a stern look.

"They are with me," he said. "We have orders from Odin — that is all you need to know. Understand?" Thor could be quite intimidating, when he wished, and I believe the exposed muscles and _Mjolnir _had something to do with it. Just a theory.

"Yes, sire," the guard replied, straightening, and lowering his head and eyes a bit.

_Submission. Good. _

"Good," Thor said, and we walked past them, to the Rainbow Bridge. As we walked, I stared down at the bridge — Ljota and Thor were obviously used to it, but I had only been to Asgard once before. The thing is quite mesmerising, let me tell you. I still have no idea how it works, because Ljota has no scientific explanation, which is aggravating, because I don't like not knowing things. As we walked, I got kind of lost in the investigation as I stared past my feet, wondering how in the name of sanity my feet were still there on this-

"_Violet!_" Ljota said, and I might as well as heard her roll her eyes., because I know she was doing it. She had disengaged her Shimmer, which I thought was idiotic, because HEIMDALL WAS STILL THERE, but I then realised he, of all people could see through it anyway.

"_Asgardians,_" I muttered, as I disengaged my own, and ran up to the two of them.

"Heard that," they both muttered back. I smiled — Thor and Ljota finally agreeing on something, well look at that. Oh. Heimdall!

"Wait, isn't he all-seeing? Why —"

"He cannot see Loki for some reason,"Thor said, aggravated and sad again. "If he has found a way to mask himself, he has help again —"

"No."Ljota simply stated. "He — he has no help — if he is looking for me, he would do it alone." she said, with all surety. At that moment, I trusted a force along with, but not God (though, He had something to do with it, I'm sure) and more powerful than science. Ljota had a real bond with Loki, as much as I had one with my own father — if not stronger. They were all each other had, and I could respect that, knowing the Doctor… It hurts, being that alone. I trusted what she said about Loki.

"I think — I think he's going to the Jotunheim,"she whispered, and we stopped. Thor turned around.

"What makes you so sure?" he said, afraid. I knew what he was thinking — last time Loki went to the Jotunheim…

"If you were abandoned by your own adopted kin, where would you go?" I said on her behalf, because I could not honestly deal with how stupid some people could be. Loki had done wrong, but who had pushed him off the edge? And now he was trying to do the right thing — no. For once, I felt bad for the baddie. Thor said nothing — his eyes said enough. I walked forward, dragging Ljota behind me.

"You — how did —" she stammered, looking for words — gratitude was not her area.

"Don't worry about it, Lokilein, I was taught how to deal with idiots early on."

We reached Heimdall, and he looked even less happy than usual.

"Lord Thor."

"Heimdall. We need you to open the Bifrost."Thor said.

"You wish to go to the Jodenheim to find Loki." Heimdall replied. It was not a question. Ljota was squirming a little again — she hated when people had the upper hand, as I mentioned before, and right now, almost everyone, but her, had something over her.

"Yes, Heimdall. We must find him, you know that." Thor said, almost pleading.

"I believe that his daughter is right behind you,"he replied, in way of response. Ljota stepped forward.

"Yes,"she said, no longer quaking. "I know that I am not the most wanted person around, Heimdall, but if anyone is going to find Loki, _my father_, then it is I!" she was angry. And sad. Those two things usually coincide when it comes to her, and, I guessed, and later learned, that it was inherited. I stepped forward — Heimdall , I had seen before. I could deduce him. I decided to take a page from Loki and Daughter's book as well.

"Heimdall, I know you want to find Loki — how embarrassing must it be that you cannot see him! He could be anywhere. But we have a clue as to where he is, and I have a plan. We find him, and that's one less problem for you," I said, keeping my cool, trying to sound nonchalant — that usually got people. It got Heimdall.

"As you wish," he said, opening the Bifrost, looking more at Thor and Ljota than myself.

We walked closer to the Bifrost — the Vortex, to me. It was time to initiate the plan, but no one was going to like it. I took the Chitauri Sceptre from my pocket.

"How came you by this?" Thor said, staring more at the Sceptre than myself. The power was radiating off it — I could feel it. But I shook it off — it was designed for a Frost Giant, for Loki — if anyone was going to feel it's power, it was Ljota. And I felt bad for her.

I gave a look to Thor, and he shut up — I suppose Ljota and Watson were correct — the glare of a Timelord silences all. Good thing too, because I needed that.

"What is the plan, then, Holmes?" Ljota said, still daring to be excited.

"Well…"I took out my sonic, and pointed it at the Sceptre, holding the button down. It started to track Loki.

"Okay, this is tracking Loki now, but I'm afraid it will be no use on the Jodenheim unless we're within a mile of him…

" But we have no idea where he is!" Ljota said.

"I know. That's the thing. Just listen.

"The Sceptre is like a remote control — my sonic is a guide. They're somewhat connected now, so they could lead the way to him ; we step into the Bifrost, we land near him." Thor looked happy, but Ljota did not.

"What is the catch, as you say?" She had been taught there was a catch to everything early on. She could spot it. I spoke on, quieter now.

"Well… the Sceptre and sonic aren't quite connected. I'm afraid… I'm afraid you have to use your magic to conduct them, if you will…" I hated saying it. She had magic, sure, but it wasn't strong. Not like that — she could do illusions, she could transform little things, but complicated processes like that… I was afraid. She was too.

"If we succeed, how close will we be to him?" she asked.

"Within 20 feet, by my estimates." I said, with false confidence. It could work, but…

"And, _by your estimates_, what happens if this doesn't work?" I took a breath. How could I say this? There was no way to say it lightly, so I said it the only way I knew how — without emotion. That's the only way I could get it out .

"The magic burns you up first, and Thor and I take an extra few seconds to freeze in the Vortex — ... Bifrost."

Thor almost said something, but Heimdall, for some reason, gave him his own death-look, and the supposed "god of thunder"said nothing. Ljota took it surprisingly well.

"What are the odds, good to bad?"

I sighed. "50/50" Everyone knew what that meant.

"WHAT?"

"You are joking, Holmes, tell me you are joking!"

"She is correct,"Heimdall said. They looked at him.

"Thank you, Heimdall,"I said. "This is the safest way, I swear, or else I wouldn't tell you."

Thor looked angry again, but I didn't care: it was his brother, but Loki was Ljota's father — this was about her. And she was determined. She put her hand out for the Sceptre.

"I'll do what I must. Thor, you may stay, I do not care, but I am looking for my father, whatever the cost." Thor nodded, and stayed put.

"I understand. You must realise, Ljota, I still do love your father, my brother. I just wish…" He stopped. We knew what he wanted. He nodded again, and Ljota took the Sceptre in her hand. She smiled, and I feared it was taking over her mind, making her hungry for power — but she said, with fake hope, "Are you sure there is no other — AGH!"

She doubled over — the Sceptre's magic was too much. I ran over, ready to take it from her, to use my Regeneration energy, if necessary, but she thrust her hand out for me to stop, and stood up again.

"I have it under control, for now, do what you must, Vi!" She struggled . We had to hurry.

"Into the Bifrost, now! Thor, do not interfere, it'll be the death of us!"I yelled, as I helped Ljota into the Vortex.

We were in, but going nowhere! I looked around in the Bifrost — shades of blue and purple, like the Vortex, but it was not moving. Ljota — she didn't have enough control of the Sceptre. I didn't want to have to do this, but I did — there was no other way . I mentioned before, Timelords can meld minds with others, like Vulcans in that cheap and inaccurate space show. The only difference is we can do it without the other person being unconscious.

The mind is like a hallway, with many doors — we have memories that fade, that are locked up — in the "backs of our minds"for safety. Things we are thinking of are in the first doors, the ones that are unlocked. I knew that Ljota's front rooms would be full of her father, at the moment. _This is going to hurt._

I found my way over to where she was, and put my sonic-free hand on her temple.

Immediately, her and my mind were connected. If she wanted to, she could see my memories, but she was a bit busy trying not to die. I dove into hers.

I looked for memories of her father — quite easy, she was thinking of him.

_Laughter. Smiles. The feeling of fear only seen when you're playing a trick, and do not want to be discovered. Joyous fear. A smiling man with straight black hair, a chiseled face, and sleek, black, green and gold clothes. A golden glow coming from his hands as he teaches me how to use my own magic. I am smiling — but it is not me! It is Ljota! My father taught me the magic of deduction, not illusions. But this is beautiful._

"Remember this?"I said to Ljota, who was trying to keep the tears out of her eyes — both from the pain of remembrance of happier times, and the pain of the magic that was now killing her. Part of her, yet killing her, like a cancer.

"Yes, I do!"she whispered. She was sad, but happy at the same time. I could feel the Vortex moving, but not enough. If this messed up…

I dug further into her memories. Yes.

_Father is laughing, and I am too! My hands are glowing, and the magic is working._

"_You have improved. Very good." he says. I am beaming with pride — he is not one to just give out compliments. This is going perfectly. _Onkel _will not be pleased. Fantastic._

"Oh, Lokilein! This is a beautiful memory. I see your father really loves you."  
" Of course… of course he does! Why would he not, Holmes?"

"Exactly. And you love him too. You'd do anything to find your —" _Vater. How sweet. She uses the Norse and German words… _

" You would do anything to find your _Vater_, wouldn't you? Because he's actually not so bad — he is just misunderstood, and you have to be there to help him!"

"Mm-mm!" she said. She was a child again — I put her in her memories so she would _live_ them; so the connection would be stronger.

" Remember this?" I prompted.

"Uh-huh! My magic was working well for the first time, and _Vater_ was teaching me how make illusions more complex… The hammer… _Mjolnir_, we made it look like it was in different chambers…." _We fixed up the real one. Thor will be so angry, but we don't care, it is so worth it!_

"That was you?" Thor said, hearing us. He knew — he knew how to help, he was making the memory more real. He could be an idiot, but now he was a genius.

"It took me weeks to take all of the frills of! And the beads, the PINK beads!" he said with fake disdain.

Ljota was laughing. It was actually quite funny, the memory.

"You can see him again, relive that again!" I said to her. Her eyes brightened. And so did the Bifrost. We sped, faster than the speed of light. She blacked out for a moment, and let go of the Scepter. I caught it, just in time — but I too blacked out, because I was still melded with her consciousness.

When I woke up, I was freezing. I could feel my arm bleeding, and my back ached from the rocky surface. I opened my eyes — we were on the Jotunheim. It took me a second to get up, but get up I did. I found the Scepter, and held it — I knew I was the only one who could, for the time being, without dying. Thor was up, scanning the area.

"I did not want to wake her — she looks drained."

I decided to be the one to bring her to her senses. I slapped her face a bit, and she woke up, quickly, ready to fight back — as always.

"We're here. We're alive, Lokilein!" I said, putting my hand out for her to get up.

"How are you feeling?" I asked. She looked paler than usual.

"Oh, 'I am on a roller-coaster that only goes up, my friend,'" she hissed, but still smiled afterwards. She had quoted a "Midgardian" book that I forced her to read a while ago. The fact that she remembered, even _quoted_ a book so emotional (it is emotional — it moved even me, and I could have sworn I saw her clench her jaw a few times when reading it) meant she was still shell-shocked. But the fact that she was sarcastic? That was a good sign — she was recovering.

"Well, we are alive, we beat the odds! We're fine," I said, still a bit breathless.

"Not for long," a voice behind me said. It was masculine, deep — but not Thor's. I turned around to see a dark haired man with a chiseled face, with sleek black, green, and gold clothes.


	5. Try To Fix You

LJOTA

"_Not for long."_

I looked up at the achingly familiar voice, hardly daring to believe it was him. But it was him, and once I had acknowledged that fact, I had to come to terms with the rather more worrying fact that he was apparently about to kill us. Still, the only thing I could say was a feeble, "_Vater_?"

He glared. "What — what trickery is this? Do you take me for a fool?" He began striding back and forth angrily, never taking his eyes off of us. "Thor Odinson, my _brother_" — he spat the word — "and the granddaughter of that cosmic idiot, the Doctor? You are illusions, nothing more — and by no means any relative of mine!" He drew a dagger from inside his coat with a swift, practiced motion, his expression void of anything but hollow fury.

I admit, it wasn't entirely what I'd envisioned. After years of separation, I had expected — well, hoped for, at any rate — a somewhat warmer welcome. Especially considering I had just nearly died in order to find him. The whole thing made me want to cry, but I was at least self-possessed enough to avoid _that_. I couldn't contain the quiet gasp of shock, though.

"No!" I exclaimed, more emotional than I should have let on in front of him. "_Vater_, please! I'm real — so are they — you must believe me! I've been searching for you, we all have —"

He cut me off scornfully. "Impossible. As if anyone would search for _me_. I, who lost everyone. My mother died, my father and brother hate me. And then . . . and then _her_" — was he talking about my mother? He clearly wasn't much better off than me right now — "and now my daughter, too. I should have learned long ago that I could never keep anyone for long. And you," he glared around, "why should I care for any of you? You dare to mock me? Then know the cost." He raised the dagger, and I could tell he was ready to murder us all then and there. My father didn't make empty threats.

Violet came to our rescue again, and it was a good thing she did, since my father had clearly hardened himself against my pleading. "Loki!" She lunged at him, tensing as if she was going to fight him — which would have been a very, very bad idea — but instead, she ducked past his guard and grabbed at his face, fastening her fingers around his temples. _Mind-meld again. Of course. These Time Lords._ "See?" she continued. "Look at her! That is your _tochter_," — oh, she had picked up on my use of the word _vater_, and extrapolated, clever — "clear as day! She's missed you for ages — I see it in her eyes, _your_ eyes, every day in our adventures! You — you can see my own memories, too — see —" She grunted. I supposed my father was fighting her invasion of his mind, or perhaps turning the connection back on her. "See? I am her friend, and she has missed you dearly!"

I had to smile at her description of herself as my friend — she was the only one who had ever claimed that — although I was less pleased by her public assessment of my emotions. Nevertheless, I took the opportunity to resume pleading.

"_Vater_, please. You can see it. It's me, I promise." Apparently struck by Violet's memories, he paused — but didn't lower the dagger.

"It — _Ljota_?" he said cautiously. "But how do I know this is not all some elaborate trick?"

"I don't know. Trust?" (Though he and I are both, of course, well-known for deceit and trickery, we never lied to one another.) "Please, _Vater_." Deciding that her mind-reading work was done, Violet stepped away from him.

Thor decided to finally speak up for us. "For the love of the Yggdrasil, Loki, stop this. It's us. Why is it so hard for you to accept that? These are mere children. What reason could they have to deceive you?"

This, unfortunately, got us nowhere. "What reason, Thor? Oh, perhaps you? Or Odin? Everyone seems to bend to his will —"

Although I had to accept his point, I was glad Violet argued back with, "But, Lord Loki, not we. You saw my memories, and you, master of both magic and trickery, should know I could not have faked that. Your _tochter_ misses you. Listen to her."

At the risk of inflating Violet's ego to breaking point, I will say that her little speech was masterfully composed and perfectly timed. My father was already growing weary of arguing with what he deemed to be illusions, and her careful flattery — together with her addressal of him as "Lord," which was a title many begrudged him — took the last edge off of his desire to murder us on the spot.

"Fine," he sighed. "Imagine for a moment that I believe you. How did you find me?"

Incredibly relieved that he was no longer trying to kill us (which, I acknowledge, is probably not a feeling typical of a healthy father-daughter relationship), I explained. "You said you know of the Doctor. You know that Violet is his granddaughter. The technology she used to track you was Time Lord. We used this to find your signature," I added, gesturing to the Scepter still in Violet's grasp.

He frowned at the mention of the Doctor — clearly, the two weren't on the best of terms, which was only to be expected — but seemed surprised when he realized what Violet was holding. "How did you get your hands on this? That is mine," he said, but not angrily, and when he reached to take the weapon from her, the gesture was not as violent as I had expected. "Do be careful with this," he whispered, more to me than her. I wanted to hug him, but my better judgment — and long experience — warned me against it. "Where did you get that?" he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Violet, too, seemed intrigued by his gentleness, but said nothing of it. "You left it in your closet, my Lord," she told him. Again with the flattery. Ah, well, at least it worked. "I knew that it would be the only way to find you — only safe way, in any case." _Safe_. That was a laugh. Fifty-fifty chance that all three of us die? Quite safe, yes. Then again, I wasn't known for my caution, nor my honesty. So I couldn't fault her. "Lokilein — I mean, forgive me, Ljota — almost burned up looking for you, sir. And don't worry about the Doctor. Any friend or family of Ljota's is that of mine, cross my hearts."

I was convinced that she slipped the apparently accidental "Lokilein" in on purpose, to soften him further. It worked, too.

"Lokilein — "little Loki" on Midgard, yes?" he interpreted. He was, to my amazement, almost grinning. (Key word: _almost_.)

"Yes," I confirmed, "in German. Violet made it up." There was no "almost" to my grin. It probably looked as though my face was two-thirds teeth and one-third other things. That's certainly how it felt.

A frown settled back into his brow as a thought returned to him. "What happened to you, Ljota? Why didn't you come back at the end of two years, like we planned? We looked everywhere for you. Well, _I_ looked everywhere," he added in a resentful mutter. It seemed Asgard had not put a great deal of effort into finding me, not that I was surprised.

"Oh," I said awkwardly, "yes. About that. I tried, but the Bifrost wasn't opening for me. I don't know why, but I couldn't get in. So naturally I shielded my presence, since it could as easily have been intentional as accidental and I didn't want anyone to find me if they weren't letting me back on my own terms. I only got back to Asgard with Violet's help. Then we heard you were gone — for weeks — ever since they gave up on finding me —" I went to him, throwing the greater part of my caution to the winds, and took the hand that wasn't holding his old Scepter. "I'm so sorry, _Vater_."

He smiled, which threw me off somewhat. It wasn't the expected reaction, considering that he's been threatening death only minutes before. But then, he is a hard person to predict. "Violet, is it?" he asked, turning to her. "Come here."

I could read the wariness in my friend's eyes, but she approached him anyway.

"You have reunited me with my daughter," he said, "breaking several rules in the process. I like that!" He held out his hand, and Violet took it.

I, of course, could tell he wasn't being honest — but before I could say anything, we were zapped through space and time once more. When I looked around, we were in an underground duct somewhere. Violet was looking back and forth between her necklace chain — now bare —and my father.

"You stole my Vortex Manipulator!" she exclaimed accusingly. He smirked.

"You trusted me," he reminded her. Then, suddenly, he had his dagger out again and was holding it to her chest. I was confused — he had been sincere earlier, when he began to believe us. What was he doing?

Violet knew enough to recognize that she couldn't fight her way out of this one, so she stayed put. "Okay, okay! What do you want? I helped you!"

He nodded. "And I thank you, I really do. But I am of the opinion that Thor, now stuck on Jotunheim, will begin to search for me again. And he will never look on Midgard!"

It still wasn't adding up. "Why would you do that, _Vater_?" I asked. "I know you're not on the best of terms with Uncle Thor, but is that really a good enough reason to abandon him like that?" (I was, it is true, temporarily forgetting that my father is the Prince of Overreacting and Holding Grudges.)

"Oh, it's nothing personal. I merely wanted to escape the eyes of Asgard for a while longer. I grow weary of the Aesir."

Violet glanced around, taking in our surroundings. "You reversed the polarity of my Vortex Manipulator using your magic?"

"Well, obviously," he smirked, then leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Honestly, _Midgardians_ . . ."

"Play nicely," I chided.

But Violet interrupted. "No, no," she said, "you knew how to use the Manipulator. I saw it in your mind — oh." She had the 'brilliant-deduction-I-get-it-now' face on. "You want to speak to my father."

I looked at him, but he didn't reply — which, of, course, only confirmed Violet's supposition. "_Vater_?" I asked. "What's going on?"

"Just trust me, Ljota," he told me, and strode off, his clothes morphing into Midgardian attire. Violet still looked suspicious as we followed behind, and stole back her device. I am sure he noticed, but my father didn't try to stop her.

"Lokilein," she whispered to me, "this is a secret route to Baker Street — I _told_ you. How does your father know how to get there?"

"Well, did he read your mind during the mindmeld back there?" I inquired. Of course he had, my father wouldn't let an opportunity like that go to waste. Violet sighed.

"I thought I had more control over the meld than that — but I suppose you are right, he is quite powerful. Confound it! There really is no way to warn Mum and Dad . . . we're just going to have to go with it, Lokilein . . ."

I could hear the grin in my father's voice when he spoke. "I can hear both of you, you know. Ljota, you of all people should remember that."

Of course I did. It was just that I didn't care. "I know, _Vater_. But it's not as if there's anything I can do about it. Or as if you're going to skin me for pointing out that you could have manipulated the meld. Or Violet for worrying." I grinned. "You're really not going to do anything to either of us."

"How certain are you of that?" he asked, smirking playfully over his shoulder.

Violet smirked back. "As sure as you are that you love her more than anything in Creation. See, my Lord Loki, I did still see into your mind. Looks as though we both have to be careful."

He frowned, mock angry. "Maybe so, Midgardian, maybe so. This is your door." It wasn't a question. We were standing in front of 221B by now.

"No use denying it," Violet admitted. "The whole world knows it, and now so do you." Unlocking the door, she led us up the stairs. My father and I walked behind, side by side.

"I'm so glad we found you," I said quietly. He smiled very slightly but didn't say anything back.

Violet turned, looking slightly confused. "Okay, Loki, Lokilein — my Mum and Dad are in there. I've told them they have a client, so Dad is just dressing."

_Dressing for a client? That's out of character_, I mused.

"Fine," said my father, but fidgeted impatiently while we waited.

Eventually, a voice came from inside and Violet opened the door to reveal her parents sitting in the flat. Sherlock stood up when he saw who was with her.

"Well, you didn't tell me that you were bringing _Loki_ here, Violet!" he exclaimed, casting concerned glances at Molly. My father smiled.

"I brought myself, really. Your daughter merely opened the door." Defending people wasn't like him, either, but I suppose he felt he ought to do it for my sake, considering the fact that we had just been reunited after years of separation. I was proud of him for it.

Leaning around Violet — she's always been taller than me, and it does get annoying sometimes — so that I could see Sherlock, I joined in. "He's telling the truth, Mr. Hol — Sherlock, I mean. For once. He stole her Vortex Manipulator and forced it to bring us here. It's really not Violet's fault." I realized as soon as the words had left my mouth that I'd forgotten to call in a 'device' that time. My poor brain.

Sherlock looked Loki up and down; I could almost see the deductions forming in his mind. Clearly not pleased by what he perceived in my father — which made me a little angry at him — he whispered something to Molly, who hugged Violet, glared at my father, and walked out the door. Sherlock then returned his attention to us.

"Please, sit," he invited, ushering us in.

My father didn't move. "What are you planning, Holmes?" he asked, eyes narrowed, mistrust written in every detail of his expression and posture.

Sherlock, however, looked legitimately surprised at the accusation. "Me? I am planning nothing. You wished to consult me, so I was being polite. No, if anyone is to be suspicious, it is I of you, _God of Mischief_!"

(I am forced to admit that he did have a point. Trusting my father has rarely gotten anyone anywhere.)

Violet seemed to decide that she ought to do something about the imminent and potentially deadly row between our fathers. "Dad . . ." she said quietly, trying to rein in his temper.

It didn't work. "Well, it's true, isn't it? He stole your Vortex Manipulator? He's not exactly the most trustworthy person in the room, with all he's done to Earth, Violet!"

My father had the grace to look vaguely remorseful at that point, and did his very best to be courteous. "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes," he said with only the slightest of smirks. "You must understand that I have grown to expect deceit from almost everyone." He glanced at me, and I smiled. _Almost everyone_, meaning everyone except me. "Even Thor lied to me once. I'd never have believed he could pull it off."

But Sherlock Holmes was not to be calmed down. He, to my horror, and I suppose the dismay of his own daughter, started to make deductions.

"Oh. I see. You are trying to make up for your past! How many years was it until they told you what you actually were — a few centuries? So for that whole time, they made you believe that you of all people could be king if Odin threw Thor out. You thought that — it is written in the way you hold yourself. So you lived in Thor's shadow. He becomes more and more loved by Odin — and you? You are left alone. You think your powers help, they would make you friends, but they only scare people. Not even your friends like you anymore, because of the greatness of your 'brother'. You snap. Only your daughter loves you now, no wonder —"

That was too much. My father gave up on trying to be polite. "I CAME HERE FOR HELP, TIME LORD — NOT HUMILIATION!" he roared, no longer caring who heard. It must have been frightening, because Mrs. Hudson never even came out to see what was going one. "I LOWERED MYSELF SO FAR AS TO SEE OUT HELP ON MIDGARD — OF ALL THE REALMS — AND _THIS_ IS HOW YOU GREET ME?"

Sherlock wasn't cowed. I congratulate him for that, since there are few who could withstand the full force of my father's rage at such short range, and still have the courage to argue back. "WELL, _FROST GIANT_, HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO CONTAIN MY THOUGHTS? WE COME FROM THE SAME BACKGROUND, DO YOU NOT NOTICE?" He continued, more quietly but with no less deadly anger. "No. _No,_ you do not, because you think that your magic will make me pity you, even though I have every right to call the Proclamation on your _waste of skin_ right now! The _only _reason I have any _shred _of pity for you is because you deigned 'low' enough to look for your daughter, the _only one_ who loves you — which is confusing in and of itself, since you _abandoned_ her for half of her miserable life —"

"FATHER!" Even Violet seemed shocked at his vehemence, but I was already yelling and I'm not certain Sherlock even heard her.

"DON'T TALK ABOUT MY FATHER LIKE THAT!" I shouted, my self-control slipping fast. "It's not as if it was his fault Odin imprisoned him on a whim every other week! He was all I ever had! And don't you _dare_ try to tell me I deserve better, because my father has always — _always_ — done _everything in his power_ to give me everything Odin denied him! Honesty!" (All right, I get the irony. But as I've said, my father always made sure he never lied to me, and I returned the favor.) "Family! A life that meant more than a — a bargaining chip, or a mistake!"

I would have kept going, but my father pulled me back. "Sh," he whispered. "Leave this to me." Turning back to Sherlock, he took over. "Gently now, Time Lord," he chided. "You are distressing the children. And don't forget that it was _your_ insolence that started all this."

"My — _my_ insolence?" Sherlock looked understandably affronted. "I was just concerned for my daughter — she's been hanging out with murderous psychopaths!"

Violet tried to calm him down again, but she didn't look hopeful that it would work. "Father, relax. I am not a child any longer." (She never called him Father. I'm still not sure where that came from.)

Sherlock harrumphed. "And yet you are acting like one!" He continued in a whisper loud enough for us to hear, "Why is it that you _insist_ on helping the Frost Giants —"

"Dad —"

"The elder is of the quality that we lock up, Violet, and the younger is quickly following in his footsteps!"

I was ready to scream all sorts of abuse at him for that, but my father beat me to it. "DO NOT SPEAK OF MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT! SHE IS NOT ME! I HAVE DONE _EVERYTHING _TO KEEP HER FROM BECOMING LIKE ME!"

Even though I was almost as furious as he was, I had enough reason left in me to recognize the signs of imminent destruction, and try to stop him. "_Vater_! Please. Don't kill anyone." I kept glaring at Sherlock, to make sure he knew how close _I _was to murder, too.

He seemed well aware of the dangers of our combined rage. His hand crept toward his pocket, though I wasn't sure whether he was going for a gun or his Sonic — the latter, I had never even seen.

"Father," Violet begged, "calm down!" (There it was again — "Father." Perhaps Violet will explain that occurrence.)

"She had to remind him not to _kill_ anyone, Violet!" Sherlock pointed out. Another valid point, Mr. Holmes. "And while the two of us can regenerate, the rest of Earth is not so lucky!" His hand emerged from his pocket — the Sonic. That was worrying. He glanced back and forth between me and Violet. "Loki, I do not want to do anything rash — not in front of our daughters. But do not make me, because I swear to Rassilon that you will not make it out of here alive if you become a threat to Earth."

My own father was breathing hard, teeth gritted — trying to restrain himself, but clearly having a hard time of it. "I would not destroy this planet for a petty fight, Holmes. Believe it or not, I have learned better than that." (Everyone always judges my father based on the worst moments of his past.) "You, on the other hand — I might kill _you_ if you continue in this vein!" (Then again, maybe they have a point.)

"You see?" Sherlock said, glaring. "The unpredictability, the fury simmering constantly just below the surface — you could _never_ be relied upon! It is a mystery to me why your daughter has such trust in you."

The urge to strangle him returned. I'm amazed he got out of that argument alive.

"_Father_!" Violet exclaimed. (Again!) "Calm yourself! Ljota is trustworthy, or else why would I be friends with her?"

That was when Sherlock got _really_ low. "Not like you have many friends, anyway," he muttered. I think we were all too shocked to respond for a moment. Violet was the first to recover.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU, SHERLOCK HOLMES! I trust Ljota, because she is worth it, you idiot! YES, I did just call you that! BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT! _Now, _I suggest that unless we all want to kill each other, we SIT DOWN and TALK!"

I won't deny that killing Sherlock, at least, was a tempting option at that moment. But he and Loki, still glaring, sat stiffly down across from one another and tried to be civil.

"Well," Sherlock sighed, "Violet, Ljota, what do you propose we do? It is obvious that Loki wants to find refuge somewhere on Earth, away from Odin, even if he has to find it himself. He trusts me no longer, nor you, Violet, so he intends to take his daughter with him — and no one wins, as always, when dealing with Loki."

Violet looked at me. "You'd leave . . . I mean, I understand, but — do you not trust me, Ljota?"

I struggled to answer. Hard question. Really. "You're the first friend I ever had, Vi. Still my only friend, by the looks of it." I looked darkly at Sherlock. "But I don't know who to trust anymore. I don't even know if I can trust myself. Nothing is constant anymore. Only my rage."

My father gave me a strange look. "You truly are my daughter," he murmured, surprised, then raised his voice a little. "I will do what I must to protect Ljota and myself. When Thor returns to Asgard, the Aesir will search for us far and wide. We all know it is not safe for either of us in that realm. We must not be found." The "we all know" was a nice move on his part. Since we hadn't explicitly told the Holmeses what life was like for us there, it acknowledged the fact that they would have deduced it on their own, and we both knew that that family's weakest point was their pride.

Violet looked at her father. "Dad, please." (Back to "Dad" now. I relaxed a little.) "Please, just consider this. If not for them, then for me. _We _both know what it is like to be rejected. I beg of you — help them."

Sherlock's gaze turned distant, and it was clear he was no longer really present in the room. I wanted to know what, exactly, he was remembering, but I'm not a Time Lord and have no mind-reading skills, so there was little chance of that.

At length, he spoke. "Yes. I will. Okay, okay. Ah, Loki, I hate to say this, but . . . you and Ljota may stay in Baker Street for a while. We have a spare room for you in this flat, and Violet has one in hers . . . you may stay."

I was surprised by the sudden presence of tears in my eyes. I suppose that's what extreme relief and other varieties of emotion will do to one. "Sherlock. Thank you. Thank you so much, I — this means so much to me, really. I don't know how I can ever pay my debt of gratitude."

My father and Sherlock both looked slightly disdainful at my emotional display. Violet looked concerned for my psychological well-being.

Raising his eyebrows but saying nothing, my father turned to Sherlock again. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Holmes." He was still radiating mistrust, but at least he was being polite.

Sherlock must have recognized the lack of trust, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he said , "Okay, Molly, you can come out now."

Violet looked quite surprised as her mother came back through the door. "She was _there_ the _whole time_?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. She was outside the door, ready to call 999 if need be — sorry . . ."

My father didn't take it as an insult. On the contrary, he seemed oddly pleased. "At least we are equal in our mistrust of one another," he said. "Perhaps that is a good thing."


	6. Lights Will Guide You Home

PART ONE: VIOLET

Weeks passed, and neither Thor nor Odin, nor any other Asgardian suspected where Ljota and Loki were hiding. In fact, another whole case passed wherein Baker St. was left by all Holmeses to find John Watson (see the narrative I titled 'Oncoming Storms and East Winds'), and neither Asgardian made a sound. The only people who knew of their stay were the Watsons and the Shadow Proclamation. I ended up telling the Proclamation, and they, surprisingly, were fine with it. My and my father's birthday (the same date, January 6th) passed, and still, no incident. Ljota and Loki were now quite part of life.

In fact, Dad and Loki almost became friends… almost. See, when you have a bored Holmes cooped up in 221B Baker St. doing experiments, and bored Loki cooped up in the same apartment with Molly Hooper Holmes gone, and Bored Loki wants to see what certain chemicals do… let us just say that we ended up convincing the god of mischief to magic the walls clean, and Ljota and I went all the way to Harrod's to find a couch that looked like the old one. She magicked that one to look old. It was brilliant.

So when I say we had gotten used to them and their antics (we're odd folk ourselves anyway), then I tell you that nothing quite surprised us.

It was mid-February when I started noticing I needed new clothes. I was needed on a case to a rather cold planet — as if it wasn't already freezing in London — so I needed to get prepared. Of course, I looked for the standard four-layer outfit of stockings, thick socks, jeans, undershirt, polo, cardigan, overcoat, and scarf —the problem being that I could not find many of them. When Holmeses cannot find something, not to toot our own already-too-large horn, there is something very wrong. Sure, the blue polo and black jeans were where they should have been- but the stockings, the cardigan; _the things keeping me warm on a planet that is below freezing?_ They were gone. _Lokilein_.

Sometimes, she "accidentally" nicked my clothes from the laundry, because, even though she insists I'm annoyingly taller than her, it is really just the boots- we're about the same size. And she liked my style. I walked into her room, where she was in bed reading a book (also mine) about Norse Myths.

"This is so inaccurate," she muttered as I walked in.

"_Guten morgen_ to you too. Did you steal my stockings and cardigan?"

"Which ones?" she said, not looking up from her book, but not denying anything either.

"The black ones, both cases. Lokilein, hurry up and give them to me, I have to go to the Planet of the Ood, it's freezing there."

"What makes you think I've stolen them, Holmes?" she said, still not looking up.

" 'Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, must be the truth,' as Dad says, and I've looked everywhere except for your room. Give them to me," I said, getting impatient.

"You didn't look everywhere-"

"Yes I-"

"Did you check your mother's clothes? No. People get confused…" she said, her nose still in the book, eyebrows furrowed. She had a valid point- Mum and I are also the same size.

"I doubt it, Lokilein, but I'll check. How did you know-"

"Timelords are not the only ones with excellent hearing…Oh, this is just idiotic! They portray Thor as some kind of perfect hero!" Ljota cursed the book.

"Well-"

"Comment on that, and I will cause your next Regeneration."

With that, I grabbed my socks and over-clothes, just in case she was right, and my cardigan was upstairs with Mum's clothes.

I walked up, arms in hand, and unlocked the door. Mum was already gone for work. Loki was on the couch in Asgardian clothes, an odd sight,(we had finally convinced him to wear "Midgardian" apparel, just in case, but on lazy days, he wore what he wanted), and Dad was preparing to go out on a case-_Uncle Lestrade's baffled again, how lovely._

"Morning,Loki." He replied with a grunt towards my direction- he was reading the news, the tragic sections about murder and things- and liking it.

"Daddylock, hello! The triple homicide?"

"Yes. Planet of the Ood again?" he replied, instead of 'good morning".

"Indeed. But my cardigan is missing, mind if I look in your room? Mum could have taken it, accidentally, you know…"

"Mm…" he looked incredulous for a moment, then changed his mind, his face lighter. "Of course, Violet. Just be quick, I have to get my jacket and go-Graham's going to get angry-"

"Greg. Uncle Lestrade's name is Greg, Dad. Graham was the other Lestrade, remember?"

"Oh, yes," he said, absently, not caring. I went into his room and searched through Mum's clothes. As Ljota had guessed, there was a black cardigan(Mum rarely wears black), as well as stockings that did not belong to her.

I shut the door so I could quickly change into the stockings, then threw on the cardigan. The odd thing was that, not being wool, it couldn't have shrunk in the wash, but it was, indeed, smaller. But I had a schedule to keep- I could fix up the sweater later, the Ood were waiting, and they hadn't needed help in centuries.

I walked out, and Dad came in closely behind, as if he was waiting- he was, in fact. So impatient. _Sleeve seam-a centimeter higher than usual. Buttons, straining even more._

That was more noticeable, because, as some of his… fans… have noticed, my father's shirts are usually a bit fact they could be tighter? I felt bad for his buttons. I glanced at the shirt again, and he caught my gaze. He knew it was too tight, but his pride issues didn't want to admit it. He glanced in my direction, in the same area of my arm-seam, as if to say, "_You are not one to talk. Say nothing, I say nothing._"

He knew I have pride issues too.

No one said anything past that.

A while later, on Mum's birthday, we all went out to eat. The Watsons were invited, and even Loki and Ljota went- disguised, of course. Loki kept the face, but went with blondish hair, with modern clothing, and Ljota copied.

As I was changing in my closet, I noticed that nothing fit. Nothing! Not even what were the loosest jumpers fit, they were all tight! I had no idea what was going on-perhaps they had shrunk? I settled for the black shirt and jeans that I had worn when finding Loki a few months ago, hoping to Rassilon nothing would break.

Part Two:

LJOTA

Oh yes, I remember that prank. That was a good one. I had better explain.

For the better part of two months, my father and I had been doing a little . . . meddling, shall we say . . . in the wardrobes of our respective flatmates. It was a delicate operation, and frequently very tedious, but very rewarding. Very.

Each day, I would go to Violet's closet when she was out working a case — or sometimes at night, when she was sleeping soundly and didn't suspect a thing — and subtly resize her clothes. It was very gradual — it had to be, to escape attention for as long as it did — and took several hours out of each day. I had to go through every single article of clothing she owned (trousers, shirts, jumpers, and of course her coat), take the _smallest sliver _out of each side, just along the seams, so it wouldn't be noticed. Then, having magicked away the last traces of tampering — one has to be fastidious when tricking a Holmes — I had to replace each and every one of them and return them to the _exact _positions in which I found them. It was such a painstaking little process, I sometimes thought I would go mad. But my father and I agreed it was well worth the effort.

Since he had been effecting the same slight alterations to Sherlock's clothes, we watched as both of them grew more uncomfortable, day by day, and said nothing. Neither did the Holmeses though — one can always rely on Holmsian pride to keep tongues from wagging.

On the evening of Molly's birthday, we both made sure that the clothes were precisely tight enough that they would cause some public embarrassment by the time dinner was over. Not enough to cost us our lives, though — we do value those.

Most of the meal passed without incident. I was starting to get restless, but tried not to show it. Sitting in the corner booth with the Watsons, it wasn't until dessert that we reaped our reward for long weeks of labor.

An awkward-looking young waiter, suffering from a severe outbreak of acne, brought the cake and set it in front of Molly. Everyone starting singing — "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to . . ." Even my father was singing, which surprised me. I suppose he was making more of an effort to "fit in" here on Midgard.

At the "Happy birthday, dear Molly" bit, Sherlock leaned over and put his arm around his wife, smiling at her. Unfortunately for him — but to our great delight — this resulted in the beginning of the end. His top button was the first to go, the second one following shortly behind. He ought to have been grateful that they didn't continue, but the thought didn't seem to cross his mind.

The song forgotten as the candles kept burning down on Molly's cake, everyone turned to stare at Sherlock. Several people laughed. The man himself spluttered and extricated his arm from Molly's shoulders, trying to hold together his shirt. The awkward boy with the acne hurried over to see what was wrong, but Sherlock yelled abuse at him and he hurried away even faster than he had come. Lily Watson just looked embarrassed, which was understandable.

At that point, Violet decided to step in and help her dad — well-intentioned, but that only made it worse for her. As she reached toward him across the table, the strain became too much for her shirt. I think the sound of it ripping positively _echoed_ in that restaurant. The laughter was hard to contain, but my father and I were, for the time being, playing innocent.

Violet and Sherlock exchanged glances across the table, clearly coming to the same conclusion. They turned to us in complete synchronization — it was almost eerie the way they moved in unison.

"LOKI!" Sherlock snarled, giving him the famed Time Lord Glare of Silence.

"LJOTA!" Violet said at the same time. She even called me by my real name; that meant she was serious.

Oh, well. We weren't being serious. We aren't known for that trait. "Yes, Holmes?" we said together. I'm sure we were the very picture of innocence, but that didn't fool the Holmeses.

"TELL ANYONE OF THIS," Sherlock continued furiously, "AND I WILL _PERSONALLY_ TEST THE THEORY OF YOUR IMMORTALITY!"

Violet, meanwhile, continued to shout at me. "LJOTA, I SWEAR TO RASSILON I WILL KICK YOUR FROSTY RUMP!"

That finally got me, and once I had been set off, I could not be stopped. I burst into laughter, clutching at the table, then at my sides, then at my father to keep from sliding off my seat entirely. He laughed at me, but mostly he was too busy laughing at the Holmeses to care. John looked like he was having trouble breathing. Mary was laughing. Even Molly was smiling a bit. Lily still looked embarrassed, and the waiter with the acne was staying well out of reach.

Even though Sherlock and Violet were still glaring daggers at us, it felt good to make people laugh. It felt like we meant something to them, beyond a temporary flatshare. I had never felt that before.

Within ten minutes, Sherlock had succeeded in getting us all out of our seats. Someone had the presence of mind to blow out the candles on Molly's untouched birthday cake, and I had calmed down enough to walk, although I still kept one hand on my father's shoulder just to make sure I didn't fall over on our way out of the restaurant. Everyone in the place was staring at us. A few were laughing or smiling, but most of them were glaring in annoyance. I didn't care.

We parted with the Watsons in front of the restaurant, and Sherlock — who had forced on his coat, though unable to button it, and put on his scarf to hide the missing buttons — hailed a cab. The ride back was spent in an uncomfortable silence, which I tried very hard not to break every time Violet or Sherlock shifted or picked at their clothes. I exchanged glances with my father and we grinned in triumph.

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock and Violet stalked off to change into still-intact clothes. They didn't even think to ask us to magic their clothes back to the right size. Molly followed Sherlock, presumably to make sure he didn't shoot anything. Left alone, my father and I looked at one another again and both burst into laughter.

"Their faces!" I choked. "And right in the middle of the song!"

"I swear I saw Molly smile."

"She did! But the Holmeses — 'I will test the theory of your immortality!' 'I will kick your frosty rump!' Oh, that was glorious."

"Frosty rump? Was that an insult to your family?" He put on his mock-offended look.

"Most likely. I do feel bad about the cake, though. It looked like an excellent cake. A pity we didn't get to eat it."

My father nodded. "That, _meine tochter_, was an excellent joke."

I quieted a little at that. We hadn't pulled a prank like that together since I was much younger, and he hadn't called me _tochter_ in decades. I smiled.

"Yes, _Vater_, it was, wasn't it?

A few weeks later, we all sat around in the main room of 221B Baker Street. After much pleading (on Violet's part) and threats (on Sherlock's), we had finally fixed up all their clothes so that they fit comfortably again. Violet and I were just back from a case, and Sherlock had refrained from extreme violence despite the lack of a case. Violet and I came up to 221B, and found an unusually peaceful scene. Molly was fussing around trying to clean up the mess left by Sherlock's latest experience. Sherlock was slouched in his chair, scanning over a mass of newspapers and ignoring his wife, except when she shook a petri dish full of various teeth right under his nose. My father was on the sofa, shaking his head in despair as he paged through Violet's book of Norse Myths — the same on I had been reading the previous month.

"How unflattering," he muttered. "A beard? Really? I don't think a beard would suit me."

They all looked up as we entered the flat.

"Oh, there you are, girls," Molly said, coming over. "How was the case? Successful? Good."

"Hello," put in Sherlock absently.

"Good day, fair wandering maidens," my father smirked. "Come in and take your well-earned rest and bread with us. Once all the bodily fluids have been thoroughly removed from the tabletop, of course."

Violet took a seat in another of the old armchairs scattered about the room, and I went and sat on the sofa to read over my father's shoulder. He was just reaching the legend of the birth of Sleipnir (the eight-legged horse I mentioned earlier). "I remember that," I said, nodding. "One of your stranger escapades."

"They bullied me," he defended. "Just because I said we ought to consider the wright's offer. We could have given him the sun and moon. We could always make more of those. And we needed a wall. There was the matter of Freyja, of course, but she was always a bit annoying. We could have done without."

"On the bright side, you did make a lovely mare," I replied, laughing. He glared jokingly.

"A mare?" Sherlock chuckled from across the room. "I must hear this story. Do continue."

"Oh yes, he was stunning, if the pictures in that book are anything to go by," Violet agreed, grinning. "Go on, Loki, enlighten the ignorant."

I prodded him in the back. "You heard them, _Vater_. Read."

He looked as though he was going to protest, but then he just shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.

"_The legend of the Walling of Asgard and the birth of Sleipnir_," he began.

As he read on, I looked around the room. Sherlock and Violet were exchanging amused glances and incredulous expressions. Molly had come to sit by Sherlock and was laughing along. My father was glancing around between sentences and smiling in that quiet way that only I could see.

I smiled, too, because in that room — surrounded by city sounds and laughter and the familiar cadence of my father's voice — I realized that, for the first time in my life, I was home.


End file.
